


Heartlines

by ExpressAndAdmirable



Series: The Heroes of Light [19]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Final Fantasy I
Genre: F/F, Gen, Self-Reflection, Tiefling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExpressAndAdmirable/pseuds/ExpressAndAdmirable
Summary: Lux reflects on her new relationship and the circumstances of her life that led her to this point. (Featuring art!)





	Heartlines

**Author's Note:**

> Included is a lovely sketch of Lux and Sol, drawn by Sol's player @b-e-m-l-t on Tumblr.

The fire was low when she woke, almost gone; were it not for the grey early morning light seeping in from the long stone hallway, she might have thought it was still night. In hindsight, lighting a fire inside a building with no chimney may have been a mistake, but aside from a slightly blackened ceiling, nothing seemed particularly affected. The faint remains of intricate frescoes still haunted the walls, a long-dead people worshipping a longer-dead king. A king they would, in theory, meet later that day. But it was not time yet.

For a few long moments, Aviva debated whether she actually wanted to move. Sol had joined her at some point after she had fallen asleep on her bedroll, settling into a comfortable sitting position against the wall, and Aviva had draped her arms over the Drow’s folded legs before her head drooped and she drifted off once more. Now, as she stirred, she felt the gentle weight of Sol’s hand resting on her ribs and she smiled. She found she slept better when using Sol’s lap as a pillow, despite the slight stiffness in her spine. It was not a leap of logic to discern why: Sol’s embrace was, without exaggeration, the safest place she had ever been. Her arms were shelter, her warmth was a balm. It was a sensation as exciting as it was strange, and as Aviva listened to Sol’s soft, even breathing, she revelled in it.

But, the perennial smoker’s craving could no longer be denied. Carefully, delicately, Aviva extricated herself from her position, pressing a light kiss to Sol’s temple as she dozed. The Drow’s head tilted ever so slightly at the touch; perhaps she was meditating rather than asleep, Aviva could never tell. She stepped towards the dying embers of the fire, retrieved her cedar cigarette box from her belongings and, with a stretch and a yawn, headed for the hallway to the outside world. She tipped her head to Maergrahn as she passed and he looked at her quizzically. He nodded in understanding when she lifted her cigarette box, returning to his vigil. Last watch of the night.

The early morning air was thick and quiet, the relative cool of the night lingering in the soft grey haze and foretelling the oppressive heat of the coming day. The silence of the ruin felt strangely secretive, the ancient buildings beyond their camping spot fading into the mist, joining the dissipating smoke of her cigarette. She smirked to herself as her thoughts wandered to the previous evening, the new secrets she and Sol had committed to the collective memory of this once-sacred place. It felt holy, what they had shared; a devotional, a reconsecration of forgotten ground. She considered venturing behind the building to observe the site of their liaison, perhaps reminisce further, but practicality and safety dictated she remain close by the door. Her smoke curled upward into the humid air.

_“That’s how it always is in the books. It’s always a big deal when it happens. It means things change after. Though it’s usually the more aggressive person doing the kissing, not the gentle one. That was surprising.”_

Morgan’s voice floated through her mind as she recalled the night’s conversation. Little Morgan, whose plain speech belied a startling, razor-sharp perceptiveness that routinely dumbfounded her. Earlier in the day, Morgan had witnessed Sol greet potential death in the test of courage by grabbing Aviva and kissing her, and what had truly surprised the Gnome was not the action, but the instigator. When pressed by the baffled Tiefling as to how she could possibly be the aggressor of the pair, Morgan had continued.

_“You’re used to fighting. It hurts you when people are mean, but in a far away type way. When Sol gets hurt it cuts her more.”_

Huh.

At first, the assertion had seemed utterly ridiculous. Sol had a sword and a temper and a fierce hardness to her, while Aviva was every inch the sensitive musician. But the more she thought about it, the more she realised Morgan was right. The Gnome had, in a few simple words, revealed the absolute truth of them.

Both women had heavily armoured themselves over the years, though their suits differed: Sol covered her softness with steel and rage while Aviva tempered her fire with a blanket of thorns. It became easy to forget. The masks they wore, blunt gruffness and cool detachment, had moulded themselves so precisely they almost felt like real faces. But they were growing heavy, often as much a burden as a safeguard. Arm’s length, Aviva had discovered, was an exhausting distance.

If she was truly as aggressive as Morgan said, how had she become so disconnected from her own power? The thought troubled her. She could enthrall crowds at the largest festival on the continent, could charm information out of unsuspecting listeners, could wound and even kill an enemy with a few vicious words. She knew, on some level, how easy it was for her to command the attention of a room. She knew her presence was striking, even threatening, and knew how to use it to her advantage. How, then, had she become so small in her own mind?

As she stood, spiced smoke filling her lungs in the grey pre-dawn light, the answers came to her. She remembered the look of terror on her mother’s face after the fight in the schoolyard, when she had displayed her first magical prowess. The boys who had taunted and thrown rocks at her until she snapped, then stared at her and whispered behind their hands, too fearful to approach. Her only childhood friend, whose mother dragged her away and filled her head with hate. Shopkeepers who made warding gestures when she passed by, constables who suspected her of wrongdoing merely for meeting their eyes. The first lover she had allowed to touch her, who later bragged that he had “fucked a demon”. Her mentor’s husband, who placed the blame for his love’s death squarely on her shoulders. Her last lover, whose presence became worse than being alone. Throughout her life, fear and revulsion were the only constants, even from people she loved. It had made her defiant, but not self-trusting.

It was little wonder she could not see.

And then, through the strange crossings of fate, there was Sol. Sol, who calmed her after her body burst with hellish flame and convinced her the power she held was there to protect her. Who looked at her not with horror but with awe, with admiration, when she exercised her dread abilities. Who encouraged her to step forward and take charge when her skills were needed. Who saw only beauty within her, not darkness or corruption. Who knew what it was to be feared and hated. Who accepted her advances steadily, cautiously, until she was ready to discard her armour and expose her vulnerable heart.

As soon as Sol – Haluei’en – had revealed that precious, priceless gift, Aviva knew she would protect her with everything she had. She would indeed be the aggressor if anyone threatened her Sol, coming down upon them with the fury of all Nine Hells if necessary. She had never been more sure of anything.

Slightly surprised by her own vehemence, she was struck by an additional point in favour of Morgan’s hypothesis: she had initiated nearly every stage of her relationship with Sol, save the most recent. It was a fact Morgan could not possibly have known, making her observation all the more astute. She shook her head with a soft laugh. Only Morgan could make her reexamine her entire life with a few short sentences. Truly impressive. She would have to let her know someday.

It would be mid-morning before the rest of her companions were awake. There was still plenty of time. She extinguished the cigarette between her fingers and took one last look at the ghostly outlines of the ruin before heading back inside to their camp. When she reached their bed, she considered for a brief moment, then stretched once again across Sol’s lap, resting her head against her arms and closing her eyes. The Drow murmured something half-consciously in Elvish, her hand reaching up to smooth Aviva’s hair. Her gentle Sol. She smiled.

She was in love, and she was safe. They would protect each other. She was confident of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Title song by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at @expressandadmirable for a proper table of contents for the Heroes campaign, commissioned character art, text-based roleplay snippets and more!


End file.
